


"I just really miss talking to you."

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anniversary, Appreciation of Mycroft's Arse, Don't copy to another site, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg misses Mycroft, M/M, Mystrade Monday, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Mycroft's called out of town. Greg is none too happy about it. After all, there's an important date coming up.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862299
Comments: 18
Kudos: 127





	"I just really miss talking to you."

“How long will you be gone?” Greg watched Mycroft as he moved about the bedroom packing his suitcase.

“Likely a week.” Mycroft pulled a garment bag out of his closet. “Possibly two.”

“Oh,” Greg failed to keep the dismay out of his voice.

Mycroft stopped perusing the suits in his closet and looked over at Greg. “I’m sorry. I know the timing is less than ideal.”

Greg shrugged, but said nothing.

Mycroft pulled three suits from the closet and laid them on the bed. He looked over at Greg. “Come help me pick out my ties. You’ve an excellent eye for color.” He held his hand out. Greg moved towards his partner and took Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft raised it to his lips. “I’ll be home as soon as possible,” he murmured.

“I know. I just…” Greg’s voice trailed away. He blinked rapidly, trying to force back the tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes.

Mycroft tugged him into a comforting embrace. “Yes, I know.”

* * *

_7 days later…_

“I’m sorry they’re being such berks.” Greg was propped up in bed wishing he could climb through the iPad screen and into Mycroft’s arms. Mycroft looked tired. He’d just showered and his hair was drying in fluffy waves. The bathrobe revealed a peek at the ginger chest hair Greg so loved to pet.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well, it’s not totally unexpected, but I’d hoped that… “

“You’d be home for our anniversary,” Greg finished the sentence.

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed quietly.

“There’s still time,” Greg offered with an optimism he didn’t feel.

“What would you like to do when I return, to celebrate our first year together?” Mycroft asked. Greg could tell he was trying to keep the conversation from becoming too maudlin.

“Honestly?”

“No, lie to me,” was Mycroft’s dry response.

Greg chuckled. “I’d like an evening alone with you, at home in front of the fire. Maybe some Champagne and those strawberries you like so much.”

Mycroft snorted. “The strawberries _I_ like so much? The last time we had those strawberries I only got two.”

“You said you were full.” Greg protested.

“I lied.”

Greg laughed. “Well, I hope you learned your lesson.”

“I certainly did,” Mycroft retorted. “I’ll order more strawberries next time.”

Greg snorted and gasped with laughter. Mycroft smiled indulgently, as Greg calmed himself and wiped his watering eyes. “Oh God,” he sighed. “I miss you.”

“And what is it that you miss so much about me?” Mycroft asked, curious.

“I just really miss talking to you.”

“You are talking to me.”

“I know, but it’s not the same.” Greg paused to collect his thoughts. “I miss the little touches and the subtle looks.”

Mycroft sighed wistfully. “And here I thought you loved me for my virility and sexy arse.”

“Oh my God,” Greg groaned. “Your arse… your arse is a work of art.”

Mycroft huffed. “I’m afraid it’s becoming quite flabby from all the sitting.”

“We’ll just have to whip it into shape when you get back,” Greg waggled his eyebrows.

“Please?” Breathed Mycroft.

* * *

_12 days later…_

It had been a long day at the Yard. He’d originally taken the day off, but with Mycroft being gone there was no point, so he cancelled his leave. Still wearing his coat and carrying a bag of takeaway, Greg snapped the lights on in the kitchen and gaped at the display on the counter.

A bouquet of twenty-four lush and perfect roses overflowed out of a crystal vase. A box of chocolate dipped strawberries and bottle of Champagne chilling in a bucket sat on the counter next to the roses. A card propped against the wine bucket was addressed to him. Greg sat down his bag of takeaway and picked up the card.

_My dearest Gregory,_

_I count the minutes until we are reunited._

_All my love,_

_Mycroft_

_10 pm GMT_

Greg glanced at the kitchen clock and grinned. He’d just enough time to take shower and get the fire going. Takeaway forgotten, Greg bounded upstairs for the fastest shower of his life.

The fire was crackling merrily when Greg heard the door open. “Mycroft,” he called as he headed for the foyer. “You made it!” Suit rumpled and tie askew, never had Mycroft looked better to Greg.

Mycroft set down his bags, shrugged off his coat and smiled. “Happy Anniversary, Gregory.”

“Happy Anniversary, Mycroft.” Greg beamed and pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re home,” he murmured.

Mycroft’s hum of agreement turned into a moan of desire, as Greg kissed him soundly. They pulled away slightly dazed, and Mycroft licked his lips. “You’ve been into the strawberries,” he accused.

“I only wanted to make sure they were perfect for you, My, love,” Greg replied innocently.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, incredulously.

Greg giggled at the expression. He reached up and stroked Mycroft’s cheek. “Oh, I’ve missed talking to you.”


End file.
